


Boughs & Mockingbirds

by EmmyRK



Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Childbirth, Choices, Choices: Stories You Play - Freeform, F/M, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Labor and Delivery, Pixelberry, The Royal Heir - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26020288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyRK/pseuds/EmmyRK
Summary: First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the royal heir in a baby carriage...This is a tragic retelling of the chaotic birth story from Choices: The Royal Heir.  This fic involves a heavy discussion and depiction of medical emergencies during childbirth; some of the dialogue may be dark, disturbing and/or triggering to sensitive readers; some main characters will face life-threatening situations; please use discretion.Characters and some of the ideas belong to Pixelberry.
Relationships: Liam/Main Character (The Royal Romance)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

The soft clinking of ice cubes rob the frigid stillness of the master suite; the blaring sirens of intoxication pierce his vision. The decorum of a king flees his broken body, leaving him in a desolate crumple on the floor next to his marriage bed. His fatigued head frantically searches for understanding, reaching for some inkling of logic for his recent tumble into despair. Poisoning himself with cognac and cigarettes, he's alone--just like that. In a matter of hours, his happy life, his undying love dismantles into nothing. With a dark void in place of his heart, he begs for an end to his sudden hopelessness, to his unwanted misery.

_"Liam."_ Her voice rings delicately like tinkering windchimes, swirling in a soft Mediterranean Sea breeze. His senses saturate with soft notes of rosebuds as he remembers the soft, perfumed skin of her graceful neck. His memory dashes through the forest of her brilliant dark russet waves, each cascade dancing seductively through his fingers. His queen, his whole world, rivals the most elegant of wonders, the most exquisite of masterpieces.

_"Liam."_ Her voice softly and melodically interjects again, gently strumming his heartstrings.

_"Riley."_ He lifts his head from his cold hands, searching the darkness for the depths of her blue eyes, searching for the joy that plunders his soul when she offers him her petal pink lips. "My love." He stretches his arms into the dark abyss, pleading to feel even just a waft of her passing near him.

_"Liam. Please."_ The concern in the tranquil echoes rattles his raw nerves. He shoots the rest of his amber drink, appreciating the deep burn warming in his belly as a cold sweat gathers across his forehead. He fumbles onto his knees, desperately crawling closer to the bed.

_"Riley. Riley, my love. I'm here."_ He hungrily hunts the winding sheets for her hand. Oh, to feel her warmth against his arms, to feel her breath against his face. He becomes frantic in his stupor, unable to find the woman who beckons for him.

"Liam. Please. Don't let me die." In a sudden fit of rage, the king tears into the blankets like a wild beast. His breathing quickens as a deep, painful ache grows in his chest. The room violently spins as the haunting screams of his laboring wife devastates his quaking body.

_"Riley! I'm here!"_ His trembling fingers crawl across the sheets until they stumble upon vast amounts of bone-chilling, drenched fabric. The storms in his eyes pour torrentially down his ruddy, swollen cheeks as he frightfully stares at the crimson stains that cover his hands.

He gasps for air as he slams his fists onto the firm mattress; guttural groans spill out from the depths of his grief. His wails rattle the sturdy walls of the room as he is consumed by a hurricane of turmoil. His heart and soul shred like paper; the darkness threatens to overtake him as his vision burrows into an empty abyss.

His screams are momentarily interrupted by a wrapping at the door.

_"Li? It's me."_ The husky, baritone voice of his best friend is unmistakable. _"Have you showered yet?"_ Drake's words fall on deaf ears as Liam remains silent, engulfed by agony and phantom visions of his queen. _"Um, Li? Can you hear me?"_

After several moments of torturing silence, Drake slowly and cautiously allows himself into the living quarters. Waves of nausea threaten his stomach as his heart sinks from the disastrous scene. The normally pristine, decluttered home boasts the remnants of the most terrifying night of their lives. Nothing has been moved; nothing has been cleaned. Broken glass litters the rugs. The metallic odor of blood is thick; he can almost hear the ghastly cries from Riley echoing continuously through the halls.

The only thing different in the vicinity is the inebriated man that resembles the King of Cordonia, rumpled on the floor. His wrinkled, unbuttoned white Oxford is speckled with bloody fingerprints. His blond hair is unkempt while his face boasts a boozehound shadow. His baby blues clearly sparkle amongst his swollen, blood-shot eyes.

Drake gingerly crouches next to him. "Hey, man," he nervously runs his fingers through his carelessly tousled hair. "Let's get you showered."

Gentle streams of grief course down Liam's face as he stares absent-mindedly at a framed picture on Riley's nightstand: a peaceful still-shot of her rounded belly with Liam's hands forming a heart. They must've taken over 200 photos on the beach that day, but this one won over his bride's heart. He had it framed, and gave it to her when she went on bedrest a few days ago. It was meant to encourage her, but now it seems like an awful joke.

"C'mon. She-- _She needs you_." Liam firms up his quivering lip as he nods in agreement. Drake offers Liam his calloused hands, assisting him to his feet and into the bathroom suite. He provides Liam a plush maroon bath towel; the name 'Rys' is embroidered with brilliant gold threads. "Do you," Drake clears his throat, "need any help? I mean, do you need anything?" Liam chews on the inside of his lip as he stares at the plastic infant tub that resides next to his vanity sink. He meekly shakes his head as he begins to peel off his soiled clothes. 

Drake slowly retreats, but quickly stops in his tracks as he remembers his original mission for the interaction with the mourning king. "Oh, um, Li?" Liam's back is to him, but he subtly turns his ear towards the familiar voice. "So, um, we are getting everything done. Y'know? Taken care of."

Liam fixes the towel around his waist, as he turns to face his childhood friend. He shakes his head in confusion as if to remove scales from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Drake. What are you asking?" he responds in a gravelly, hoarse tone.

"I--err--we just want to make sure we have the spelling right before we process these papers."

Liam clears his throat. "I don't understand. What papers?"

Drake feels his cheeks redden; the discomfort from the pinpricks in eyes are almost unbearable as he refuses to shed any tears in front Liam. "Um, they're final disposition papers."

Like a punch to the gut, the words knock the wind out of Liam. Two prominent veins appear furiously on his temples. "Oh. Of course." He sniffles to clear the remnants of tears as he fixes his jaw, faking a brave, diplomatic face. "The royal registrar needs to process these things, so we can make proper arrangements."

Drake purses his lips together, letting a sigh escape through his nose as he mindfully nods.

Forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, Liam finally answers. "It's spelled the usual way.” His voices cracks as he bites back a sob. “E-l-e-a-n-o-r."


	2. Chapter 2

The ghastly static of the grimly-lit hospital room ricochets the solemn ringing of incessant beeps and obnoxious alarms. A seasoned nurse swiftly busies herself with hanging new bags of plasma and O negative blood for the newly intubated mother. The administration of life-preserving meds along with the numerous lab draws have become routine, hypnotic clockwork ever since her majesty's admittance into the intensive care unit late last night. Regular, frequent visits by intensivists and hematologists to discuss care options have ridden her loved one's minds to an antsy, unsure numbness, convinced that the only thing to expect is the unexpected.

His knees alternate bouncing with uneasiness; he mindlessly wrings his sweaty hands, occasionally cracking his knuckles and picking at his dry cuticles. His fervent trance over Riley's condition is soured with grief, but Maxwell remains delusionally optimistic, whispering desperate prayers and pleas for her life.

_"Hey gentleman."_ Her kind voice dances in his memory, wafting like a sweet perfume that puts his body at ease. _"I don't get why you're being so grim about this…"_ A comforting grin grows on his face as he closes his strained, irritated eyes. There she is, in his mind, the way he will always see her. Her glossy raven-colored waves tuck carelessly behind her ears. Her sparkling, hopeful blue eyes contest the bright noonday sky. Her smile always blooms like the fragrant blossoms of the lush green meadows of Ramsford in the Springtime.

His beautiful recollection of Riley vanishes abruptly as a dainty, feminine clearing of the throat forces him back into reality. He rolls his eyes, covertly peering over his shoulder to glare at the blonde essence of prim and proper. Brochures, directories and magazines litter Madeleine's lap as she takes notes and applies post-it note flags to flower arrangements, table-settings, meal choices and outfits for the Queen.

Normally Maxwell admires her gumption to plan and prepare, but not today. Not in Riley's room. She fiercely hosts so much knowledge on decorum and courtly character, but somehow the Countess of Fydelia completely misses the mark on demonstrating compassion.

A bitterness grows in his stomach as he turns his attention back to Riley, forcing himself to see what has become of her majesty. Her once rosy skin color boasts a subtle gray hue, mottled with splotches of yellows and greens from her multiple prods. A faint web-design of irregular purple spots freckles her body, _"due to bleeding under the skin,"_ if he remembers what the doctors said correctly. 

With the hushed suction of the sliding glass door opening and closing, Hana quietly scurries into the room, carefully balancing three small styrofoam cups of hot coffee. She distributes them to Madeleine and Maxwell while setting the third one on the bedside table.

"Since when do you drink black coffee?" Madeleine questions in jest.

"It's not for me." Hana quietly answers as her eyes dart between her two friends. "I talked with Drake and, um, his majesty--" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "He _needs_ it."

Madeleine scoffs, raising her perfectly pruned eyebrow. "We're watching his wife, and he's off getting drunk." She picks up another funeral brochure, casually glancing through it as she mutters under her breath, _"No different than Leo."_

Hana and Maxwell exchange a wince at the petty, yet vicious comment.

Hana sits in a padded, bedside rolling chair next to Maxwell. She fidgets with her white dress, adjusting the gold-embellished gown to lay comfortably as she sits. The heavily-beaded outfit once roared of lovely elegance; but now, it paid an unnecessary homage to how everyone was feeling: dreary, empty. As she gives the fabric one last smooth-over, her hand brushes across patches of dark rouge, a stain that she secretly begs to be her own. Her fingers begin to quake as she scrunches the fabric in her small fists, hiding it from view and willing it from reality.

Noticing her shakes, Maxwell fixes his slate-gray suit jacket on Hana's petite shoulders, helping her forget about the dress. She gently runs her polished-fingers across his lapel pin: a silver bejeweled squid, the tentacles gently tinkering against each other as they hang freely. She fixes her swollen, blood-shot eyes on his glazed, wet eyes, sharing a brief moment of happiness as they give each other a knowing-grin.

_"Oh, Hana!"_ Madeleine's voice interjects, resonating like a clanging gong as she shoves a designer catalog in Hana's arms. "What do you think of this periwinkle blue?"

"That is stunning gown, Maddy, but--" Hana flashes a look of concern. "What is this dress for?"

Madeleine turns back to flipping through the magazine, coughing casually. "It's for Riley."

She knew. Hana knew exactly what she meant. _It's for Riley to be buried in._

"It comes in canary yellow," she continues with an awkward eagerness, "But I don't know if _that_ would look good on her." She nervously snickers and continues to turn the pages.

Maxwell's jaw clenches as he is overwhelmed with grieving fury. He squeezes Riley's icy, lifeless hand as fiery streams erode down his heated, rosy cheeks. _"Cold-hearted insensitive bitch,"_ he bites under his breath.

Madeleine stuns, fumbling with the catalog as her dark eyes take aim. "Pardon me, Maxwell, but was that a derogatory comment directed towards--"

_"Goddammit, Madeleine!"_ He hastily quiets his growl, sighing as he remembers his place. " _Shut up!_ For all of our sakes." He momentarily considers his words before he continues with a wrathful whisper. "Just shut the hell up." He shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief. "You are planning her funeral as if it's another one of your affluential balls." He turns his attention to the frigid blonde. _"Yes, Maddy, the fresh tuna tartar from Portavira is always delicious this time of year. Don't forget the feta-stuffed olives! Only the perfect hors d'oeuvres for the Great Houses. And I'm sure the royal family would love the pink Cordonian hydrangea blooms."_ He reins in his sarcasm. He focuses back on his queen, bringing her hand to his lips, quieting his urges to succumb to his sobs. "You are planning her funeral, and she isn't even dead yet."

"Maxwell, I didn't think--"

"Exactly. You don't think." Maxwell closes his eyes, clasping both of his hands around Riley's hand. "She's going to make it." He sighs. "She has to make it."

"Max, she's on life support. We don't even know the extent of damage on her body.” She lowers her voice, “or even to her brain--"

Refusing to pay attention to her grave words, his words crescendo, echoing through the sterile room. "She's going to make it, Maddy. She will." His lip begins to quiver as his vision blurs from uncontrollable tears. Hana's arms wrap around his waist as she embeds her face into his upper back. He lowers his voice, returning back to the intimate conversation with his best friend. "Ri," his words tremble as he paces his breathing, sniffling back his sadness. _"You--you just have to."_


	3. Chapter 3

A silver-haired technician escorted by two fitly-abled security guards privately receive Liam, Drake, and Bastien in the back stairwell to Cordonia General Hospital. The common front valet entrance floods with hungry reporters, greedy photographers and proud crown and country supporters, all wanting to know one thing: _what happened?_

The annual Last Apple Ball was heavily covered last night by invited, reputable columnists and magazines; fancy red carpets were rolled out, and interviews were given. But, before any of the excitement, the press had already been dismissed by security.

Rumors wildly ignited, spreading like a ferocious wildfire when _Euronews_ and _the Mirror_ received a pricy anonymous tip that the queen was in labor with the royal heir. Around the same time, multiple distress calls were received by emergency personnel from palace neighbors, reporting the sound of gun shots and the thunderous crashing of chains and metal. Police and firefighters were called to the scene; several ambulances were on standby. Hypervigilant shutterbugs stole moments early into the morning of the King secretively ushering a dark-haired medical professional inside with the king of Auvernal.

The media was relentless; the ambulance and royal motorcade was followed closely and dangerously by the paparazzi. Privacy in the emergency bay was almost impossible. Because of the ugly, threatening nature of the flashing lights and boom mics, Bastien worked closely with the crown's guards as well as the hospital security team. A plan was set in place to keep everyone secure and safe, especially with the fate of the queen, the heir and the future of Cordonia in the balances.

"This way, your majesty." Her voice is direct and tactful, lacking her usual personable demeanor. She averts her gaze to the ground, avoiding contact with his stormy blues. She knows full-well that if she were to witness the despair in his eyes, all professionalism would be lost; she keeps a somber visage, but the thought of seeing her leader, her country's protector, her king, as an actual human being, the brokenness of her own humanity would escape her control.

Liam stops the group at the door, his loafers stepping into a shallow rain puddle. His irritated eyes squint, adjusting quickly to the on-coming light that illuminates the tiled corridor. He feels his heartbeat pound in his ears; he places his hand on the door frame to steady his balance as he gathers his will to face the truth.

As he becomes entranced by the gold band on his ring finger, a familiar, calloused hand pats him on the shoulder.

"C'mon," Drake lets out a nervous sigh, pushing his free hand into his distressed jeans. "Let's go see her."

Liam swallows hard; he turns his head to search for strength in his best friend's eyes. With a curtly nod from Drake, the king ducks his head under the low-lying exit sign and steps into what feels like a cold tomb.

Not one word is spoken. The solemn entourage snakes its way through the hallways, escorted down a pair of stairs and through a long glass atrium. Security has already barricaded the walkways to keep extraneous staff and curious visitors from interrupting their pursuit.

As they approach the medical department that currently hosts the heart of Cordonia, the king's footsteps falter, his gait begins to stagger as each tread becomes heavier, his stride, clumsy. Drake holds out his arm for Liam to take it; however the king stops himself. He bends over, placing his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

_"Your majesty?"_ Bastien steps forward, placing a strong hand on his king's back. Liam remains silent, holding up a gentle hand to dismiss his most loyal guard.

The weight of the moment overwhelms his senses as his own mind betrays him. He can still picture her broken, lifeless body in his helpless arms; his earth-shattering wails for help falling on deaf ears; the paramedics begging for him to let her go

The familiar pricking of tears invade his aching eyes. He desires to crawl into a deep, dark hole, to will away the heartbreak, to will away the responsibility. He's well-educated and well-versed in ruling a country, however, nothing could have prepared Liam for this tragedy.

He finally straightens up, rubbing the anxiety from his face. He tightens his jaw, pressing his lips grimly together. With knit brows, he nods at Drake and Bastien as they continue to the entrance to her floor, directed by a large, illuminated sign: _Neonatal Intensive Care Unit._

He stops at the sliding glass door. The room is darkened, but her isolate is in plain view with a pink-adorned name plate: _Princess Eleanor_. Multiple wires and machines buzz and beep in efforts to keep her alive--not because her body will miraculously be whole to survive in this world. Liam knows the depths of Riley's heart; if she is going to survive this--if she is gong to actually fight to survive this-- she needs the promise of holding her baby girl, even if that meant just one more time.

A neonatal nurse practitioner notices Liam's presence as she and the neonatologist assist a tearful nurse in pushing palliative medications on his daughter.

The door quietly rolls open. "Your majesty," the nursing provider whispers. "If you want to come in and hold her, I'll wrap her up--"

_"No."_

The certainty in his voice is chilling, emotionless. It's iciness surprises even Drake and Bastien. The medical staff cowers, unable to meet his gaze.

_"But--but, your majesty--"_ The practitioner respectfully interjects, in hopes to have the king reconsider his answer.

"If I may be so bold, sir, your daughter needs you--"

_"My wife needs me."_ He bites back before clearing his throat. He smooths back displaced blond wave. "I need to go see her."

Keenly aware of the concerned stares surrounding him, Liam hastily excuses himself. He locks eyes with Bastien, furrowing his brows as he exits the floor. 

His anguish is insurmountable, reaching new depths that he himself never knew existed. He doesn't know how to act, let alone react. He doesn't know where being royalty stops and where being human begins. What he does know is the countless stares of pity and sympathy suffocate what's left of his strength. He's a whipped puppy no one can save, exposed and vulnerable. 

But, what's worse to him: being told what to do. This is his life, his family, his own grief. He understands that everyone is trying to help; but, being instructed on how to cope is maddening--especially when everyone is pushing him to love the very reason, the exact cause to all of his grief: a baby.

_God_ , _he wanted a baby so badly_. The crown trained him to _need_ a baby almost immediately after their vows. And then he seduced her into the decision of producing an heir. Sure, they both wanted children someday, but he failed to mention what was expected of them until their honeymoon night. The guilt torments him: how could he not feel responsible?

Met by the hospital's security staff, Liam is directed to the intensive care unit. Although his soul beckons to be alone with his bride, relief washes over him when he sees that his friends have kept a close vigil on her.

Madeleine quickly excuse herself, nodding subtly at Liam before meeting Drake and Bastien at the central nurse's station.

Maxwell claps Liam on the back as they embrace in a gripping hug. Not a single word is spoken; Maxwell fights to not even make a sound. He stares at the ceiling tiles, hoping that another tidal wave of emotions refrains from crashing over him, especially not in front of Liam.

Hana endearingly touches the king's face, gingerly dropping her delicate fingers to his hand to squeeze it. She grins, but her glassy, pink-stained eyes tells a different story as her breath shakes in her chest. Handing him his cup of coffee, she quickly grabs her train and reaches for Maxwell's hand to exit the room.

As the door slides quietly shut, Liam is forced to face reality: his beautiful bride, his ‘have and to hold,’ his soulmate is nothing more than a frail woman he barely recognizes. There are no beams of joy coming from her smile, no rays of adoration coming from the deep sea of her eyes. She is a shell; this isn't Riley.

He's overwhelmed by the sight and sounds of the room. A large monitor in the corner silently puffs rhythmic air into a tube attached to her mouth. Both sides of the bed are neatly littered with blinking IV machines and clear tubing; one machine supplements her body with the blood she lost during labor, the delivery and her extensive surgery.

Trembling, Liam grasps tightly onto her cold hand. Her touch has always been his source of comfort, _even now._ With his other hand, he brushes dull, dark tresses from her clammy skin before pressing his lips against her temple.

_"Riley,"_ he whispers affectionately. _"I'm here, my love. I'm here"_

He presses his forehead gently to hers. Rivers course from his eyes down his rosy cheeks, laying to rest onto her pale, lifeless face.

_"Please,"_ he quietly begs in between sobs, _"please."_

He takes a seat in the bedside chair, strengthening his clasp around her petite hand. He peppers her fingers with fervent kisses; he nuzzles his nose into her palms, into her wrists, desperate to smell a simple waft of a floral note of his queen.

_"Please, God,"_ he pleads under his breath. _"Not her. Please. Anything, but her."_ He tenderly presses his lips against her empty grip as his weeping overcomes him. _"God. Please. Don't. Don’t take her from me. Please."_

He clenches his wet eyes closed as he tenderly rubs her hand in his cheek.

_"Please, Riley, I can’t--"_ he sobs. _"I can't do this--_ " He cradles her hand in his as he lays his head on the edge of her bed. _"I don't know how to do this without you--don’t make me do this without you. Please."_

It had been almost eighteen hours since Riley went into labor; his exhaustion weighs heavily on his nerves. His breathing relaxes into a slumber as his tears begin to dry. He drifts into the stillness of the room, the hum of the machines lulling him into a much needed rest. He clings tightly to her hand, the two of them remaining as one.

His stormy blue eyes suddenly jolt awake. Something's different; something feels different as he looks around the room.

As he tries to wake himself up, he feels it again. _Her fingers._ He felt her fingers brush against his again. And again. He brings her hands to his mouth to kiss them.

_"Riley, my love!"_

He turns to look at her.

But his look of hope turns into a look of horror as he jumps from his chair.

_"Nurse? I need a nurse in here!"_


	4. Chapter 4

_"Let's push five of lorazepam STAT--"_

A distinguished, ebony-haired man in a white coat joins the group of healthcare workers in the ICU room. His affirmative rumble infiltrates the frantic alarms as he shuffles through Riley's chart to brief himself on her case. The bedside nurse quickly administers the ordered sedative as another nurse stumbles into the room with a weighted-cart of supplies and emergency medications. The unit's respiratory therapist works closely with the anesthetist as they monitor and manage the queen's breathing tube and vital signs as her body convulses.

Liam paces in an open corner of the chaotic room, wandering in circles with both hands hopelessly gripping his hair. He wars with himself on whether or not he should watch the terrifying scene of his wife violently writhing in her sheets.

"What--what's happening? What's wrong with her?" The horrified husband huskily stumbles over the lump in his throat as tears drip furiously down his ruddy cheeks. His vision hazes as the examination lights cast blind streaks into his focus. The commotion suddenly slows in pace; voices muddle in low tones. As he strains to watch, he can only see his beloved's hair wisps waft gingerly in the air, the sight plunging him deep into the valleys of his wandering mind.

> _"Sorry, I'm late," Liam bounds hastily into the late-night New York City pub. He handsomely nods in appreciation to the waitress as she extends her arm, guiding him to his table. "Thank you for your patience, Miss…?"_

> _"Uh," she clears her throat, becoming more enamored by his dashing physique, "Riley."_

> _"Charmed to make your acquaintance, Riley." He offers a charming grin as she becomes lost in the deep galaxy of his bright eyes._

> _"Trust me--" unable to breakaway from his hypnotic stardust, she continues with assuredness. "The charm's all fine--" Her eyes widen, "I mean, uh--" She shields her blistering face with her hand, staring down at the floor as she shakes her head. "It's nice to meet you." She quickly retreats to the kitchen, stumbling over her feet. She curses herself for even opening her mouth in the first place._

> _"Um, Miss Riley?"_

> _"Be right back, sir," she calls from over her shoulder. "Let me go put your order in." She quickens her pace, though Liam traces each step, charmed by her movements. Feeling him watch her, she peeks to meet his gaze again. She bites her lip, tucking a loose strand of her dark, silky hair behind her ear as she escapes into the kitchen._

"Last mag?" The bellowing demands of the bedside physician ground Liam back to reality. He hungrily watches the team work swiftly and promptly as Riley's sudden unnatural movements continue.

"5.3, at 1852. Two hours ago, sir--"

" _That's too old!_ We need one _now!_ Draw a rainbow while you're at it. Any signs or symptoms of toxicity?" The nurses shake their heads as they carefully place the Queen's body into a tilt.

"Watch the intubation! Suction ready--someone page Ramirez!" the provider sternly advises the response team.

"I'm here!" she gasps, laboring for a drink of air. "I'm right here!" Riley's obstetrician trips into the room after her mad dash through the hospital corridors from her call room. "Thanks, Dr. Ling. I've got it from here." Still throwing her hair into a bun, she easily ushers herself into command over the room. "How long have we been down?"

"His majesty called us in here about six minutes ago. Ativan pushed two minutes ago."

"Okay, okay--" She quickly reviews Riley's latest labs and vitals before slamming the chart shut. "Okay, folks. We gotta move. _Now!_ " Riley's body relaxes before their eyes as her doctor secures the padded siderails around the bed. "Someone notify CT. Make sure and tell them it's her Majesty. Post-natal eclamptic seizure complicated by DIC."

All at once like a strategic dance, monitors and machines were hooked onto Riley's bed in preparations for brain imaging. As they staff begin to unplug battery-powered machines and unlock wheels from other equipment, Riley's crumpled body laid vulnerable and exposed.

Liam quickly grabs her covers, tenderly covering her cold, damaged body. As he brings the blanket over her shoulders, he is forced to see her frail, toneless face. Her eyes are unable fully close on their own, her eyelids swollen, almost unrecognizable. Her lips remain ashen and cracked as tubes remain inserted to help her breathe and to help keep her airway free of fluids.

_"Oh, God, come back to me,"_ he huskily whispers. He grabs her frigid hand as he sinks to his knees as he presses his nose and mouth to her knuckles. "Please, Queen of my heart--" A dark thunder overcomes his senses as the physicians' voices become indiscernible. The pang of ringing ripples in his ears, flickering his eyes closed as a sweet taste penetrates his soul.

> _With the stunning New York City skyline twinkling like fireflies in the midnight air, Liam takes a knee, lovingly taking her hand._

> _"Lady Riley Brooks, queen of my heart, I have yearned to say these four words for a very, very long time…"_

> _"Liam--" her breath catches in her throat._

> _"Will--"a sheepish smile grows across his mouth, "--you marry me?" He carefully exposes the brilliant ring, adorned with multifaceted diamonds, fit for royalty, fit for her._

> _"Yes!" she giggles baited with tears of joy. "A thousand times yes!"_

"Your majesty, we need to move. _Now._ " urges Dr. Ramirez while the staff waits for the King to let go.

As he turns back to face his bride, Riley's voice is suddenly the only thing he can hear:

> _"I'm alright. And I'm here now…" Riley takes Liam's hand, squeezing it endearingly as they stand before their friends and family. "Liam, you are my soulmate… and I will never stop loving you as long as I live."_

With his darkened blue eyes exhausted from grief, he pleads for just one more moment with her, just one more moment where she is still alive. Cherishing her fingers with his lips, he begs one last time. "Just--live, my love. You have to live." He takes a breath, calming his nerves as streams chase down his cheeks.

> _"No matter what the future holds for us, I know that together is where we're meant to be."_

Unable to focus his eyes, Liam stands, giving the team a vacant nod.

Dr. Ling rapidly claps his hands. "Let's move, people!" Nurses and techs descend on the Queen's bed, ushering her hastily out of the room, leaving the shell of a husband in the shell of an ICU room.

_"Your majesty?"_ Dr. Ramirez stays behind for a brief moment to talk; but, Liam stares aimlessly out the opened doors to Riley's room, unphased by her.

She clears her throat in an attempt to gain his attention, again. _"Your majesty?"_

But still, he's hollow: empty of sensation and thought, no longer the man he was. Apathy becomes him; without his Queen, Liam is heartless.

_"Liam,"_ the physician grabs his arm while comfortingly rubbing his shoulder. " _Listen to me_ : we're going to get her through this."

His bottom lip quivers as his jaw softens; his forehead wrinkles with the furrowing of his brow as his own downpour threatens to ravage him over again.

_We're going to get her through this._

If words could haunt…

He backs into a corner as the young doctor tears from the room, returning to her royal patient's side.

_We're going to get her through this._

His body slumps raggedly down wall, drifting to the floor.

_We're going to get her through this._

He cradles his swimming mind, hiding his face from the world as his sobs reverberate against the sterile quarters.

_We're going to get her through this._

_[*** 5 Days Earlier ***]_

"Trip-trap-trip-trap-trip--" Liam whispers closely to his wife's bare baby bump as he playfully walks his fingers around her belly button. "--the hooves of the baby Billy goat went just like that: trip-trap-trip-trap-trip. All across the troll's wooden bridge."

Laying comfortably on the exam table, Riley chuckles underneath the tickle of his fingers as her eyes dance in adoration of her kingly husband. All of her natural new-mom worries of parenting adequacy melt as she watches him step eagerly and effortlessly into his roll as doting father; he has been that way this entire pregnancy.

He spends his early mornings peppering kisses across her flourishing belly; the evenings he jokingly calls 'soccer practice' as they enjoy measuring kick-counts as a couple. But, Riley's personal favorite daddy moments come when Liam thinks she is asleep. In the stillness of the night, he tells vibrant tales of magic, pirates and lost worlds; in the quietness, he sings of his love to their baby in sweet rhymes and melodic harmonies. 

Riley treasured all of these moments, filling her heart with insurmountable amounts of joy. She couldn't have picked a better partner; he is absolutely perfect: for her and for their soon-to-be family of three.

_"Stop!"_ Liam playfully snarls, deepening his voice into a husky growl as he firmly grips her abdomen. "Who's that trip-trapping over my bridge?" 

" _Aha!_ There's my favorite couple!" A pleasantly-painted Dr. Ramirez enters the exam room to conduct Riley's 36-week appointment. Unbeknownst to the king and queen, the doctor had been paged emergently to come to the bedside after the ultrasound technician finished her routine scan.

"Talk to me, your majesty. How have you been feeling?" she inquires while pulling a seat up to the imaging equipment.

"Fine," Riley shrugs, stealing a glance at Liam. "Round. Large," she giggles.

She offers a small smile at the expectant mother as she prepares to perform a second ultrasound. "Let's take a closer look. Cold, cold gel." She waves a transducer wand over the stretched gravid abdomen, conducting measurements as she types up her observations.

After a few silent minutes, Liam notices a faint awkwardness in the room. He takes Riley's hand. "Is--" he clears his throat, "--everything alright, Dr. Ramirez?"

"That's what I'm trying to determine right now."

She finishes her exam in silence, printing out pictures and a report sheet. She wipes down Riley's belly, carefully ushering her into a more relaxing position. She takes a seat in front of the royal couple, pushing her readers back onto the top of her head.

She exhales deliberately. "We need to talk." She gives a sympathetic nod at the parents as she continues. "Our little prince or princess is measuring behind--roughly a week and four days behind."

"A week and a half?" Liam raises an eyebrow with a jovial tone, appearing confused.

"Shh--" Riley quietly hushes him as she squeezes his hand. "And, that's bad?"

"It definitely concerns me," the obstetrician continues with certainty in her voice. "According to these measurements, our baby is demonstrating signs of growth restriction, something we call IUGR."

"How does this happen--" Liam puts his arm around Riley, resting his opposite hand on her nervously bouncing knee. "--this IUGR thing?"

"Babies grow by getting nourishment from their mamas via a filtration system called the placenta," she explains as she draws on a diagram of a uterus. "More times than not, if a baby isn't growing, something is wrong with our filtration system."

Burdened, Liam anxiously pulls Riley tighter to his side as she embraces her bump protectively.

"Is--" he swallows thickly, "--is our baby _okay_?"

"Yes, your baby is okay _right now_ ; but, without a well-functioning placenta, your baby cannot grow as efficiently as before. What concerns me more is that your baby might not be getting adequate amounts of oxygen."

"I’m sorry, doctor, but are you suggesting we deliver? _Now?_ " Liam hesitantly asks.

"We can't do that, yet--" Riley's eyes widen in panic as she fixes her tearful eyes at her husband. "We aren't even term yet." Riley sniffles as she turns her attention back to her doctor. "Dr. Ramirez? You aren't saying we deliver now, are you? _Right?_ "

Feeling the tension in the air, the provider holds up her hands in gentle defense as the tone in her voice quiets with assuredness and kindness. "Not yet, your majesties. What I am saying is we need to run some more tests before we make any hasty decisions about delivery." Dr. Ramirez retrieves Riley's chart, and begins flipping through her history.

"Tests? Like, bloodwork?" clarifies Liam.

"Correct. I have a suspicion that something bigger is causing all of this, something called pre-eclampsia."

" _Oh!_ " A flash of relief grows across Riley's face as she turns back to Liam. "Savannah had that with Bartie. It's fine. They just watch your blood pressure closely." She turns back to her OB. "But, I don't even have high blood pressure." 

"Blood pressure in pregnancy is a bit different than when you aren't pregnant. Here, take a look with me." Dr. Ramirez opens the queen's chart to her vital signs, showing how there's been a sizeable increase in her blood pressure since the beginning of her pregnancy, suddenly trending upwards within the last month.

"The difference alone can be a symptom of pre-eclampsia. Other symptoms include things like headache, seeing spots and halos--"

Liam shakes his head. "She hasn't had any of that--"

"Actually, love," she interrupts, "I've had a headache off and on for the past week--"

" _Riley!_ " he chastises under his breath.

"What? I didn't think anything of it. You get them all of the time--"

"That's from being the king of a country, love. Not _growing_ one--"

"Well, we know now, and it will add to the equation of the probable diagnosis of pre-eclampsia." Dr. Ramirez types a few notes on her computer before pulling out her phone. "I will notify General--"

"Wait, wait. For _what?_ " Riley raises her voice. "I can't do the tests here?"

"Darling," Liam twirls a few stray curls back as he rests his lips in his queen's hairline. "We need to do what's best for our baby--"

"I apologize, Dr. Ramirez. I don't mean to question you," her words pillow with sincerity, "but do I really have to go to the hospital for this? Is this really _that_ serious?"

The obstetrician sighs. "I think it would be best. They can monitor our heir's heartbeat around the clock, looking for any signs of distress. The lab is right there, so we will get results quicker than if we were to send them out from here."

"But, will I be there until I deliver?"

"I don't know, your majesty. It's a possibility."

"I'm sorry, but no." She shakes her head as tears begin to roll down her face. "We can't just--I can't--" Riley's voice is lost into subtle sobs as her face knits with terrifying worry. "This isn't the plan! This isn't supposed to happen--not like _this!_ "

Liam grabs his bride, securing her in a tight embrace as she painfully weeps into his chest. Resting his chin in her raven waves, his strong, caressing hands wander across her back. When she finally returns the hug by gripping his shoulder, he fixes his gaze into her stormy blue eyes.

"My love, look at me." He tenderly wipes away the streams from her rosy cheeks. "I'm scared, too. But--" a charming smile buds on his face. "I also know how courageous you are. God, Riley, you are the bravest woman--the bravest person I know." He places a gentle kiss on her forehead, then her nose before resting on her plump lips. "Our baby's safety depends on you. You can do this. My love, I know you can do this."

Riley sighs deeply as she returns her husband’s kiss. Wiping her face, she turns back to Dr. Ramirez and nods. "Okay. So, we just go straight to the labor and delivery department?"

"Yes, go ahead and pack an overnight bag, and we will go from there. Let me call them. Utmost discretion, of course."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez--"

"Yes, thank you, Dr. Ramirez. We appreciate your diligence."

Riley quickly changes into her summer maxi dress as Liam returns a few emails on his phone. She washes her hands, but stops in the middle of drying her hands, fixing her eyes on her husband.

"So, what about Cordonia?"

"What about Cordonia, my love?" He looks up from his phone.

"What will they do with out us?"

He offers a sarcastic chuckle as he returns to his correspondence. "They will go on without us."

"What about our trip to Lythikos? Maxwell's book?"

"They will go on without us."

"But the Last Apple Ball. I'm supposed to--"

He puts his phone away, focusing on his wife. "They will go on without us, my queen." He snickers as he slowly saunters closer to her. "My vigilant queen, always concerned for her country."

Riley presses her palms against Liam's taut chest as he closes the space between them. "But my love," his lips graze hers as his hands rest on her hips, "you never asked about your king." He snickers.

"Oh?" She bites her lip, allowing her voice to deepen into a rasp. "Forgive me, your majesty," she giggles as she locks her arms around his neck in a tight hug. "Tell me, then: what about my king?"

Liam's face becomes serious as he nuzzles into her waves, tightening his hold on her. He drops his lips to her ear. "Your king," he lovingly growls, "cannot go on without you." He pulls back, his eyes deepen with sadness, pleading with hers. _"I cannot go on without you."_

“My love, that’ll never happen.” Cupping his smoothly chiseled cheek, she fervently kisses his mouth as they lose themselves in the moment.

"We're all set--" Dr. Ramirez interrupts, knocking on the door while opening it. "Oh! Pardon my intrusion," she giggles as the royal couple blushes. "Let me escort you two to check-out."

Once in the hallway, Liam presses his lips to his queen's mouth again. "You go on ahead. Give me just a second." He pecks her temple before she waddles on her own to the discharge desk. Liam's bright eyes quickly darken; his eyebrows crunch together with worry as he turns back towards Dr. Ramirez.

"Pardon me, doctor, but between you and me, should I be--" he searches for the right words, circling his hands methodically in the air, "--more terrified? More, I don’t know, concerned? You can tell me."

"This is definitely not a great diagnosis, and it definitely deserves a healthy surveillance of worry. But, that's why we are going to be extra careful, taking this one day at a time until we absolutely need to deliver."

"Right," Liam slowly nods, his voice low and somber. "Thank you, Dr. Ramirez." She gives a professional bow as he begins to trek towards his wife.

"Oh! And your majesty?"

Liam promptly fixes his attention back to the physician; she offers a kind smile as she approaches him. She kindly places a hand on his shoulder, fixing her compassionate brown eyes with his.

_"We're going to get her through this."_


End file.
